So Was Marx Right?

It is Holy Week.

A very traditional high holy time where we focus on one or two ideas which force us to equate Jesus with God and, perhaps, limit our understanding to a black and white reality.

To wit, Jesus died for our sins. Or. Jesus rose again to conquer death.

Somewhere along the way, we added layers of dimension which broaden the script somewhat: Death, Suffering, Rebirth. Although psycho-emotionally deeper they still maintain the black and white naivete of people who believe they are bad and believe some external force can save them.

It is this jarring juxtaposition to our understanding of mental and emotional health that really forces me to dig deep in order to do justice to the festival while failing to accept the premise.

Have any of you ever read the poem Bio: Black Baptist/Bastard by George Elliot Clarke?

It is from a book of poems exploring racial identity within Black Canadian - and specifically, Nova Scotian culture... But I am fascinated by the imagery of church that it evokes and essentially blames for the predicament of self-hatred... I present it here in its entirety for your perusal:

 History fell upon us like the lash.

(I am not rash.) Black Baptists wept out prayers—

Passion—to hector tar into nectar,

To harvest undeniable honey,

But our scorched eyes were stooped by white faces,

We sank, stupefied by white capital,

Eating grained self-hatred in our churches,

Gulping Welch's grape juice, bile, and venom,

While chalked Jesus carped at us like a cop,

His sneered face crapping, "God damn your black ass."

Slavery was dead, wasn't it? But blood

Crusted on our rusty-tasting sermons,

A taint of blood for saint-plush lips. We could

Not look at the Adantic and not cry,

"Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?" We knew

The terror of evacuated faith.

The stars had fallen cold where they were stalled—

For no one had believed—loved—for aeons.

The air swerves cold with such calamity.

I chronicle a cold, pockmarked epoch,

Map a county where trains gnaw their way home,

Blackened mummies pitch, gutted by gypsum,

Frail Baptists fall, their crotches worm-eaten,

Debris escalates when black ice sleets in.

I come from Windsor Plains, wine-stained poet,

Choosing not to imbibe William Williams'

Rain in the galvanized pail by the well.

Well, as a child, I spread blackstrap on bread

Between bitter dollops of the Bible.

I had to. I was guilty. I had spied

My sun-skinned mother's glaring skin. (I eyed,

Self-condemned, her shimmering, mixed-race breasts.)

Enough snow has fallen without license.

A Putsch arrests my heart. My life's naked.

Listen closely. I am trying to cry.

That's my condemned blood on the page.

Now - I do not mean to appropriate this poem - it is clearly about Black identity and the way self-hatred is ingrained... But what I do want to point out is that the poet himself feels the church, specifically his black Baptist church with a chalk white Jesus has been complicit in this understanding of self as less than.

Is it not at least worth a second of our consideration that this experience is also part of what has driven the masses from our halls? What if we viewed Easter through this lens?

It was Augustine, not Jesus, who claimed we were so evil that only the sacrifice of the blood of a God would save us. He made that up echoing Jewish traditions of sacrifice and scapegoat he probably never really understood in order to appease his own self-hatred for his lust, adultery, and an illegitimate child. (okay, I am being simplistic and harsh - but it is true)

Years later Marx would famously quip that the church was the opiate of the people - that we used it to feel better about our sorry state knowing we would be rewarded in heaven. What Marx also believed but we do not remember is that the church was complicit in the creation of the said sorry state. 

When we declare people sinful - and then offer a way of salvation - are we not just using the system to perpetuate elitism and classism? 

Perhaps. 

But these are the things we don't preach from the pulpit. These are the things that we don't ponder out loud.

It makes one wonder if we are not the enemy to all that Jesus was trying to accomplish. We are a part of the powers of imperialism - whether capitalistic or monarchist - that enslave the children of God through self-hatred.

Why are we not asking if this is not at least a part of why people are falling away - they no longer see "Good News" in what we say because they are capable of seeing the historic and cultural significance in a way they were not before the information age.

So - back to Holy Week. It is not death as atonement followed by universal salvation through defeat of death and rebirth - that is a cultural layer added by the imperialistic church.

For Jesus I think it was political rebellion followed by execution, leading to a new movement.

Jesus wanted us to stop being led by status, by riches, by grasping - and instead to be led by love and compassion. And he was willing to die for his beleif that if we accomplished this, it would be heaven on earth.

I think if presented this way - more people could get behind Easter. 

Death and the Maiden

My wife just underwent emergency surgery.

She is fine. It is better. The sickness is cut out in the form of a blocked duct and she is one gall bladder lighter and comfortably recuperating at home.

Over the last year and a bit, I had four surgeries.

I am now cancer free - but for a while there, what with a grapefruit-sized tumor that could very well have been stage three by the time it was found - the future was uncertain at best.

Still - the one thing I had to come to grips with really fast was that I was dying. If I was "lucky" I would survive this, but with no guarantee that I was not on a quicker path to demise then others. The survival rate for colorectal cancers in Canada is only 64% at five years.

And then who knows - my body has been proven to degrade to cancer in one place - odds are small, like 3% chance of a second different cancer... but there are odds.

I don't say all this to get sympathy - but rather to tell you about the aftermath... The plan...

You see, when you realize that death is imminent you do everything you can to avoid it. Thus four surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, cannabis, and a change to a whole food plant-based diet. None of which are easy or pleasant to cope with when you are forced to do them (well - that is a lie - cannabis is pretty easy and pleasant ;) )

But when faced with great odds of death and poor odds of continued survival - change seems necessary and most of the arguments against it go out the window.

There is also that moment when you look back and realize - if I had not smoked for 20 years, if I had not continued to dip my arms shoulder deep in a vat of acetone while working as a fibreglass canoe modeler, if I had not have eaten meat for almost every meal, and so many other horrible choices - This may not be where I find myself now.

Ok - so this is a church blog - and this is the thing - Jesus used Parables to explain reality in an acceptable way so that we had religious and spiritual understanding. And the above is my parable... and what I want you to say is this:

Imagine there is a church that discovers it is dying...

Ahhh..... there's the rub. You see. This is exactly what happens to us as an institution.

There comes a moment when our mortality takes centre stage. There comes a moment when we say, the survival rate at five years is 64% at best. There comes a time when we frantically do everything possible to try and prolong that life expectancy.

And how much easier, how much better would it have been if we either did the things from the beginning - or at least had yearly check-ups where we asked ourselves, how can we be healthier? Where are we declining the most?

There is a clear parallel here and for some reason, human nature is all about pretending it won't happen to us. But it will. Or something else will. But mark my words. If we just pretend everything is okay, one day it won't be.

My church has 5,000 set aside to hire a new minister. For advertising, moving expenses, etc. Now - most of them hope I never leave. But wouldn't it be less stressful to have the means to put on a really good job search should that day ever come?

This is the way we need to start thinking about everything. Aging people are going to stop contributing. Population shifts are occurring. There are a hundred little changes happening year over year and we should be proactively looking at them and adapting.

Which is also - if you want to look at it a different way - what Coca Cola or any successful company does. At some point, someone pointed out that people were getting healthier and so the next year coca cola started selling health drinks, then straight up bottled water - changing year after year to meet a different perceived need.

Time for some serious health checks and product evaluation...

Musings On Critical Thoughts

I have a friend who grew up in a somewhat harsh religious environment. It became a defining moment for him when the minister continuously called out people for thinking too much.

Education was just a way, after all, of putting your trust in the "man" and in the world - rather than in God. So we are talking no university, cursory public education, and certainly no questioning of the biblically inerrant truths.

Now - my first reaction to hearing stories like this is always to be shocked. My second reaction is, admittedly, sort of snobbishly belittling the folks who do not have 12 years of University education like I do and certainly know far less about the world then I do.

But later, when I am putting my ego and elitism to rest and letting go of my own raft of insecurities, I react differently.

There is some truth here. 

The overwhelming plethora of knowledge that has come to haunt us has moved us away from the mystery. And it is not always a good thing. We seek answers in order to seek control. Control of the weather, control of the knowledge, control of the building blocks of life itself.

And perhaps I would never stand in a pulpit and say that rocket ships invading the space of heaven are angering the old man in the clouds. Nor would I say that cloning is usurping the power of God and we are headed for a Babelesque fall...

But the idea that I can explain everything because I am smart, does not serve me very well.

Religiously it serves me even worse. Instead of asking what the story of the flood was all about, I can claim that it is a myth, present in all world religions and cultures, that speaks to cultural insecurities. Instead of seeing Jesus as somehow so special I should actually pay attention to him I can tell you through critical analysis that most of the words attributed to him in the Bible are made up - and the stories - the miracles - pfffft. Wishful thinking of later followers looking back.

But does that knowledge serve to deepen my faith, or weaken it?

Let me throw something at you from left field to show what I mean. If any of you have ever gone to Disney World as a child, and then again as an adult, you will realize that there is a WORLD of difference. When I was nine, I actually flew over London with Peter Pan. When I was forty I was able to say, this is really cool how they create this effect like we are flying! I dove 20,000 leagues under the sea at one point, in later life to realize the submarine never even went under the water.

How about Christmas, Easter, Losing my teeth? Are those things better or worse with more knowledge?

Do you remember when a tree fort was an actual fort in the middle of the wild west, or you really were looking for buried pirate treasure in your backyard?

The dissolution of childlike wonder and innocence are the greatest loss possible for a human being.

But... And this is a real problem... I know better.

I see how the Bible was written, edited, redacted, changed. I have personally translated books from Hebrew to English and know how each translation requires making things up and choices. The curtain has been pulled back on most of the world - from Disney through to movies, right down to McDonald's. And I do not think I am the worse for knowing the machinery that makes the magic happen.

What I have to do is a psychological process called willful suspension of disbelief.

In other words - in order to enjoy Christmas I have to somehow will myself to believe that Santa exists. In order to enjoy Disney World I have to willfully believe that I have traveled to another realm - be it the jungles of Africa or outer space. In order to engage - I must disengage some critical thought.

I am a progressive, over-educated, liberal Christian. I do not rationally believe in miracles or divine beings.

But some of the time - some of the time I do.

What is it that Shakespeare once put in the words of Hamlet?

"There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy"

And so I think we often get lost on the wrong things. It does not matter whether Adam and Eve are real, the flood happened, or even if Jesus came back from the dead. In my mind it is probably bunk. But what matters is how I feel when I let myself believe.

When I do that - I see the world as full of miracles - and I beleive in everyone around me.